Let Slip the Dogs of War
by Reincarnated Poet
Summary: During the day at the beach, Havok realizes exactly who Ate is, and how completely the Goddess of Ruin will encompass his life.


**Author's Note:** Hey guys. I know I should really be working on my chapter fics, but I've been having a one shot craving. With that said, this one shot is kind of the under currents for a story I'm thinking about.

**Disclaimer: **I do own X-Men First Stand...in my dreams. Outside of my dreams, I only own my Stratus and laptop.

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><p><em>With Caesar's spirit, raging for revenge,<em>  
><em>With Ate by his side, come hot from hell<em>  
><em>Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice<em>  
><em>Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war,<em>  
><em>That this foul deed shall smell above the earth,<em>  
><em>With carrion men, groaning for burial.<em>

Havok was a fitting name. The second that Mystique declared that his nickname would be Havok, Alex Summers felt something inside of him shift. Something deep inside of him making a connection to his past and his future. In prison, he'd had plenty of time to read, and Shakespear had appealed to him far more now. Wasn't that what he was becoming?

A dog of war.

He almost liked the sound of it. The way it rolled off of the tongue. Training for the CIA to bring halt the starting of a war. In prison when he'd read Julius Caesar, he'd never really took much interest in Marc Antony's speech, and had always been confused when he spoke of Ate. That day on the beach, when the sun was hot, the air dry and blistering, fatigue and fear making his brow drip with sweat, he'd seen Ate. He'd seen her for the first time in his life, and he _knew_ her, even if he didn't know that was her name at the time. He'd seen her in Erik, who stood, first in the air, repelling the trecherous missiles back at the warships they'd come from. He'd seen the ruin and the strife and the hell in Erik Lensherr's eyes. In that moment, he could see where the man's rage was coming from.

He'd seen her reflected in the eyes of Moira Taggert when she shot at Lensherr, arms outstretched, gun clenched tightly. When the metal manipulator had sent a bullet stray, and it reflected downward and back, Havok knew her. Felt her. Embraced her. Loved her. He'd have let her flood his veins and burn through his body with his power. He almost wanted to. Almost needed to.

Lensherr sent him reeling backward and he landed, hard in the sand. The shock of the blow startled the ire from his veins. Banshee groaned next to him in the sand. Beast was growling. He must have known Ate well, Alex wondered later, as they sat in the hallway of the hospital. Hank was outside, waiting, shut in the back of a well tinted van. Moira Taggert was pacing, but Ate had left her. The goddess would never grace the woman with her fury and wrath again, but Havok...Havok would stand with her dialy after hearing the word "paralysis". He'd stand between Charles Xavier and the world, Ate at his side.

Banshee would see her on occasion, while he was flying. Alex could tell. He could see the rage and the strife on the young mutant's face, and while he never admitted exactly why, it didn't take Xavier's telepathy. Sean could walk. He could run. He could fly, and while there was absolutely nothing that he could have done, the guilt was nearly as crippling as the bullet.

They would recruit for Charles in that first year after the inident. Hank would stay behind, working on Cerebro and security. Charles would lay in his bed and occasionally wheel himself down to Cerebro and get a new collection of coordinates. Banshee and Havok would travel in the Blackbird-after Hank had rebuilt it and taught Banshee how to fly it-picking up children like they had been, that needed help.

A year later, Charles insisted upon going on his own. Havok would stand guard, ignoring the classes he was supposed to be attending. He stopped wearing the track suits. Instead, he'd asked Beast to redesign his suit, under his strict stylistic guidlines. In that year, he'd paced in the black leather, Ate at his side, in his expression, and in his quick anger. It was the safest the school had ever been, and it was on the winds of the Goddess of Strife. His anger was easily directed, most of the time at Magneto, but if the metal manipulator ever intended to return to the mansion, it wasn't soon enough for the blonde.

He stood one night, staring out from the inside of the mansion, Banshee at his side. "Cry Havoc." Banshee had said, glancing across the spare foot and a half between them. Freckles still littered the man's face, but there was an older draw around his eyes. In that moment, Alex realized exactly how long he'd walked hand in hand with the Goddess of Ruin. Alex turned to look up the marbel staircase to Xavier's study, where he was undoubtedly still sitting. "That this foul deed shall smell on earth, with carrion men groaning for burial." Havok was nearly startled that he knew the line, but it fit. He'd stand there, with Ate at his side until the metal manipulator stood at Xavier's side, saw what he'd done, and begged for either forgiveness or death.

Banshee turned and glanced at Alex, eyes wide, hands in his pockets. They'd stand there for the rest of the night, sharing the silence and the pain of loss.

**Author's Note:** Well guys, this was kind of just a "pound it out" one shot. I was debating writing it as an entire fully fledged story, but I already have too many of those in the works at the moment. I just thought that the lack of reaction at the end of First Stand was anti-climactic. Anyway...lemme know what you though.


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